Jake Explains Matters

The sun had sunk behind the range when Clare Kenwardine stood, musing, on
a balcony of the house. Voices and footsteps reached her across the
roofs, for Santa Brigida was wakening from its afternoon sleep and the
traffic had begun again in the cooling streets. The girl listened
vacantly, as she grappled with questions that had grown more troublesome
of late.

The life she led often jarred, and yet she could find no escape. She
hoped she was not unnecessarily censorious and tried to argue that after
all there was no great harm in gambling, but rarely succeeded in
convincing herself. Then she had deliberately thrown in her lot with her
father's. When she first insisted on joining him in England, he had, for
her sake, as she now realized, discouraged the plan, but had since come
to depend upon her in many ways, and she could not leave him. Besides, it
was too late. She had made her choice and must stick to it.

Yet she rebelled against the feeling that she had brought a taint or
stigma upon herself. She had no women friends except the wives of one or
two Spanish officials whose reputation for honesty was not of the best;
the English and American women left her alone. Most of the men she met
she frankly disliked, and imagined that the formal respect they showed
her was due to her father's hints. Kenwardine's moral code was not
severe, but he saw that his guests preserved their manners. Clare had
heard the Spaniards call him muy caballero, and they knew the outward
points of a gentleman. While she pondered, he came out on the balcony.